One Wicked Weekend
by iWriteGossipGirl
Summary: Serena's come back to her hometown with one mission in mind: seduction...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"If I was that sugar, I could die a happy man."

Serena van der Woodson ignored the male voice and continued to dust powdered sugar off her breast. Women from New York City did not overreact to innuendo, particularly the expert come-ons of men like Nate Archibald.

Unfortunately, she was no longer in New York City. She was back home in New Orleans, about to face the man who'd shattered her heart eight years ago and sent her running to lick her wounds. Well, she'd done more than that, hadn't she? She'd become a whole new woman—one Nate wouldn't be able to resist.

Serena leveled her steeliest stare into Nate's crystal blue gaze. Her libido jolted her, but she managed to tamp down the dueling urges to smack him or kiss him. She was going to make Nate one happy man, all right— just before she walked away.

"Gosh, Nate. If you were this sugar—" she slapped the last of the white stuff off her hands "—could I brush you off this easily?"

Nate's grin spread across his lips like sunrise on the Mississippi—slow and easy. But his eyebrows, dark slashes that matched his wavy golden brown hair, shot up at her retort. Serena indulged a satisfied smile. She'd bet her entire set of Gucci luggage that he hadn't expected her to defend herself against his legendary charm. Why would he? She'd once been his willing, pliable plaything—fantasizing about marriage and home and babies. Then, he'd dumped her.

She'd been so young and helplessly in love. Nate had done her a favor by breaking her heart. If she'd stayed with him in New Orleans, she never would have found her backbone or the courage to discover the woman she really was—a woman of strength, intelligence, and fire. She no longer needed a man to tell her what she wanted. She could tell him herself. Or better yet, she could show him.

Metal grated on concrete as Nate pulled out a chair and joined her, uninvited. The patio at Café du Monde was surprisingly empty for a Friday morning, and Serena had hoped to grab a quick bite before reacquainting herself with the city, alone, for now. She had only the weekend to put together a proposal that would knock the socks off her editor. In line for a coveted promotion, Serena knew her "Sexy City Nights" feature could give her the edge over the other candidates. But she'd been away from New Orleans so long. While finding Nate and enticing him to be her very personal tour guide had been on her agenda, she'd been unprepared for him to find her first.

Sometimes, Fate worked mysteriously, but Serena had learned not to argue with the inevitable. Before she could ask him how he knew she was in town, he snagged a beignet from the three on her plate, took a bite, then motioned to a nearby waiter to bring him a café au lait.

"What brings you back home?" Nate asked with a drawl.

"Business...mainly."

He nodded and munched, his expression casual, as if he knew all about her new life and her new attitude and didn't need the details. She shook her head, wondering if Nate had cornered the market on arrogance. He had no way of knowing that in the past five years she'd finished college, worked hard, and could soon be named the features editor of a top women's magazine. She mingled with celebrities. Oversaw seven-figure budgets. Called the industry's top supermodels or fashion designers just to chat or "do lunch." She'd had no contact with him at all except for the card he'd forwarded through her Aunt Carol for her recent 26th birthday.

The sentiment had been simple—"Hope you've found all you've ever wanted. Nate"—but the timing piqued her curiosity and eventually, lured her home. Still, she kept her accomplishments to herself. Maybe Carol had told him. Maybe he wouldn't be impressed. As the owner of the hottest nightclub in New Orleans, the infamous Club Carnal, he knew all the same stars and supermodels. And with his family's money, he could drop seven figures in one night playing blackjack at Harrah's and not miss a beat.

"Have you called on your aunt yet?" Nate asked.

"She knows I'm here."

Nate's lazy smile widened. The waiter brought his coffee and a short glass of ice water to undo the heat of an increasingly warm morning. "Of course she knows you're here, Rena. Question was, did you call her?"

"My aunt's no more psychic than you are humble."

He shook his head. "You've been away too long, Rena. There's a strange magic that works in this part of the world. This is the perfect example. I never thought I'd see you back here in a million years, but here you are, looking all glamorous. Sophisticated."

Serena swallowed and pressed her lips firmly together, aware of the smoldering look in Nate's aquamarine gaze, of her instinctive, sensual response to his Southern speech, undisguised compliments, and intimate endearments. Rena. No one called her that. No one but Nate.

She shook off the memories and finished her coffee in two swallows. She had to remain in control. This was her seduction, dammit. She had to set the pace.

When her editor had first suggested that she use her hometown to kick off her project, Serena imagined herself spending the weekend only fantasizing about having incredibly erotic sex all around the city. But Serena's "Sexy City Nights" feature could conceivably rock an industry that pushed the envelope every day. She had to develop a knockout mock-up, tour the sultry sites, trendy clubs, and sizzling hot spots—from the raucous French Quarter to the glitzy Central Business District—firsthand.

And watching Nate sip his coffee with utter coolness though the temperature neared 80 at nine o'clock in the morning solidified her decision to see it all, feel it all, with Nate as her personal guide. He was the sinful side of New Orleans— living and breathing and sexy as hell.

"So—" Nate cupped the white mug close to his chest, forcing Serena to note how his gray T-shirt molded over muscles tight and ripe with masculine power "—what has enticed you back after all these years? Must be something good."

"Oh, it is." She lifted her knapsack and pulled the card he'd sent her out of the side pocket. She slid it across the table without a word.

Nate chuckled and shook his head, releasing a lock of golden brown hair that fell across his forehead. "I wasn't sure you even got this," he said. "But you didn't have to come all the way home to thank me."

When he slid the errant strands back behind his ear, Serena's fingers tingled with the memory of sliding her hands into that dark mane of his, skimming his lobe with her nails, then sealing the intimacy with a soft kiss on his temple.

"That's not why I'm here."

He leaned forward, invading her personal space with all the musky spice and powerful presence that made him so incredibly irresistible, so undeniably dangerous. "Then why are you here? You swore you'd never set foot in this city again. I didn't believe you, but you proved me wrong. Until today."

She watched Nate assess her from the top of her newly frosted blond hair to the tips of her smart, black leather boots. He didn't hide his approval or the clear question in his eyes that asked, _who are you? You most certainly aren't the mousy little twit I dumped five years ago._ Oh no, she wasn't. Now she had an absolutely perfect plan to show him just how different she was.

"I'm here to seduce you, of course."


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Nate watched Serena's subtle blue irises light with a wicked gleam. The Serena van der Woodson he'd known five years ago, the Serena he'd been undeniably cruel to in his youthful ignorance, had been a lot of things—kind, sweet, relatively low maintenance so far as lovers went...But wicked? Never that. Never until now. Nate had been around enough women to recognize nefarious intentions when he saw them, but on Serena, the effect was particularly potent.

"You've come home to seduce me? That may not be so easy." Or it might be as simple as finding a dark, secluded corner somewhere.

She leaned her elbows on the table, diminishing the space between them to mere inches. Dressed in blue jeans and a sleeveless leather vest, she would have looked like a certified biker-chick if not for her neat blond hairstyle—slicked back from her pretty face and clipped with an expensive silver barrette. Her newfound style was subtle, sexy, sophisticated.

He was in deep, deep trouble.

"I'll take my chances. I don't shy away from challenges anymore, Nate. I just figured while I was back in town, I'd mix a little pleasure with business."

"Business? Your magazine?"

Her eyes widened. She hadn't mentioned the magazine to him—yet. "You know about that?"

Nate grinned sheepishly, not entirely willing to admit that he regularly checked up on her through her aunt, Carol Rhodes, who was not only the most respected psychic medium in the French Quarter, but was also an interminable gossip and his very good friend. When Serena's parents left to tour the country with their jazz trio, Carol had been Serena's surrogate mother. She cared about both of them, so Nate had taken Carol's phone call this morning very seriously.

"Word gets around. You here to do a fashion shoot?"

She shook her head. "I'm here to scout out locations for a very special feature on New Orleans."

Nate relaxed into his chair, unnerved yet fascinated by the woman she'd become. Carol had warned him that her niece had "found her center." Yeah, like an earthquake. He'd have to watch his step, or he might find himself smothered by an unexpected aftershock.

Serena scooted her chair closer to his. The scent of her perfume chased away the smells of chicory coffee and fried beignets and lured Nate back to the past. Valentine's Day. Dinner at his family's flagship restaurant. A shiny red satin box with an expensive bottle of perfume to replace the drugstore brands she wore.

The mingled scents of exotic spices and fine essences assailed him. Did she still wear the fragrance he'd chosen for her, or was his imagination hoping for more than he deserved?

"I know you are a very busy man," she said, toying with the card he'd sent. "But if you can spare a weekend, maybe you can help me."

She opened her leather backpack again, this time retrieving a dog-eared collection of tour books, maps, local newspapers, and magazines. Post-it notes stuck out in all directions. He scanned the handwritten notations, his jaw dropping with unadulterated shock as each word, each sexual fantasy, each fetish registered in his brain.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, wondering if he didn't need to swallow another glassful of water before he could command his tongue to work. "This is all about sex," he said, feeling somewhat idiotic for pointing out something so obvious.

She smiled slyly. Then winked. "Yup."

"Who are you working for now, Playboy?"

Her laugh was throaty and deep, as if she knew a secret she wasn't yet ready to share. "I pitched a feature idea to my editor called "Sexy City Nights." We're devoting a full-color spread in seven issues to having sultry, erotic sex in the nation's top cities."

"That doesn't sound politically correct," he commented, not needing her snort to point out the hypocrisy of such a remark—coming from him. "Let me rephrase that."

"Don't bother," she assured him, "I know it's an edgy premise. And as you can see by my notes, the photos might be...controversial. That's why New Orleans was a natural choice for the first city. Since this is my hometown, and the feature was my idea, my editor suggested I do the, um, legwork."

"Sounds like an easy assignment," Nate answered, mentally clearing his schedule for the next two days. The idea of her exploring the sensual, sexual side of his city without him didn't sit well. Not one bit.

She toyed with a slip of pale yellow paper where she'd scribbled the word tongue. "Yes and no."

It was his turn to snort. "Name one drawback to such an assignment."

She pushed the pile of paperwork back into her knapsack, along with his card, which he noticed also had some note written on the back. "Guidebooks don't exactly point out the sultry side of a city. But I've been gone so long, I really don't know what's hot around here anymore."

Serena slid her hand onto his knee and Nate suddenly wished he hadn't finished his coffee in such a hurry. Moisture evaporated from his mouth with the same speed as a puddle on a July afternoon. When Carol had called to tell him his ex girlfriend was back in town and most likely having beignets and coffee at Café du Monde, he'd wondered if her return wasn't a sign. Serena had been on his mind quite a bit lately, but he figured his curiosity was just a symptom of his growing restlessness with the state of his life.

When he'd spotted her from across the sidewalk, her transformation from a somewhat shy girl into a sexy, sophisticated woman compelled him to approach her, tease her, see how she'd react to him barging into her morning. Test the waters for something more.

But now, she had a proposition in her gaze, on her pale, glossy lips, which she licked, slowly, and with the expertise of a seasoned seductress. "You wouldn't happen to have the time to be my personal tour guide, would you?"

"I'll make the time."

Her half smile put him on alert. This woman was up to something. Most likely revenge. He'd been cruel to her when they broke up—insensitive, arrogant, and downright mean. He didn't know that then, of course. He'd actually patted himself on the back for being so thoughtful and selfless to push her out of the nest even if she didn't want to go.

Was that why he'd come here? To apologize? Unfortunately, her sly grin and the soft play of her fingers up his thigh didn't exactly set the scene for a heartfelt admission of guilt and regret.

"You sure?" She inched closer with each word until her breath teased the shell of his ear. "You'll have to show me around town, talk to me about sex, maybe even do a little fantasizing or role playing while I decide all the best places to do it. Could make you uncomfortable, what with our past and all."

"Screw the past, Rena. There ain't a man in this city who'd turn down an offer like that."

"Great!" With that, Serena popped out of her chair and was halfway out of the restaurant before his head cleared enough to register her escape. Did she expect him to follow? Had his enthralled response been enough to satisfy her? Well, damn, he wanted to pay a higher price. Some good, old-fashioned torture was more than in order— and in fact, already had him hot and bothered from the back of his collar to the crotch of his jeans.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

She slowed, but didn't stop. "To my hotel." She glanced over her shoulder just before her pace quickened from a lazy saunter to a sinfully swinging strut. "You coming?"


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

Every Friday morning, Carol Rhodes held court on an old iron bench in Jackson Square, more to chat with friends than to practice her trade as a psychic medium. This morning, however, she simply watched with satisfaction as Serena van der Woodson, her wayward niece, bolted out of Café du Monde with sexy Nate Archibald tearing after her like a dog who'd just lost his favorite bone.

The man worked fast. She'd only called him an hour ago, the minute she spotted Serena walking down Decatur Street instead of Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Carold had dreamt that a misguided family member would return home soon...and that she'd play a role in settling whatever disquiet sent him or her away in the first place.

Then, she'd spotted her niece. Serena had abandoned the Quarter five years ago, after Nate had broken her heart. Now that she'd returned, Carold had no qualms over helping them reconcile.

So far, she'd only made a phone call. She suspected this had been too easy, but resolved to give the young people a chance to work things out on their own. And since Serena, once a quiet, malleable child with no self-confidence to speak of, already had cocky Nate Archibald chasing after her, Carol surmised that Destiny had everything under control.

* * *

><p>Serena slid her key into the door and shielded her trembling hands from Nate's view. He'd caught up to her just outside Jax Brewery and hailed them a cab back to her hotel in the Central Business District. She'd made the reservation on the mistaken belief she'd be more in control, less nostalgic outside the Quarter. She wanted whatever happened between them now to be on her terms—a cleansing of the past rather than a reenactment.<p>

She'd tried to make Nate love her, only to be called "whipped" and "clingy." By him. By her friends. Maybe they'd been right. Then. But she would use this weekend to show him precisely how she'd changed. Not that she wanted him back— oh, no—she just wanted him to know what he'd missed.

And, she admitted to herself, she'd missed the fire that Nate's touch ignited in her—the fire that made her hands tremble now, with anticipation.

When she couldn't manage to work the lock, Nate removed the thin plastic card from her hand. "Here, let me."

She snatched the key back. "I can open a door, Nate."

"Relax, Rena."

Serena took a deep breath and finally unlocked the door. But before she stepped inside, Nate pressed the full length of his body against her. His hard erection, his hands sliding up her bare arms, his breath skimming her sensitive skin, jolted her with a mad rush of desire. "I was just trying to help. That's why you brought me here, right?"

The moment the door closed behind them, she swung around and shoved him against the wall. Serena van der Woodson didn't operate on slow simmer anymore. Nate needed to learn that toying with her meant a quick flash of fire.

She grabbed his face and crushed her lips to his, snatching fistfuls of T-shirt to pull herself up and grind against him, sharing her delight with his body, his tongue. He didn't miss a beat, didn't question, argue, or attempt to slow the pace, but removed her vest with a succession of popping snaps. He pushed her away only long enough to take off his shirt, then lifted her into his arms, suckling her nipples through the thin lace of her bra while he carried her to the bed.

After he stripped her of her jeans, he removed his, giving her a moment to retrieve a condom from her bag and slip beneath the sheets. He quickly put it on, spreading her legs with hungry hands before he covered her body with his. "Is this how you like it now? Hot and fast?"

"Touch me, Nate. I'm ready. Don't wait."

He did as she asked, growling with desire as he found her eager and responsive. In the past, coaxing Serena to climax had taken patience, time. But she was older now, more experienced, more willing to surrender to the physical side of womanhood, the side Nate filled when he pushed inside her.

When he insisted on a rhythmic, measured pace, Serena thought she'd go crazy. When he captured her gaze with his, challenging her to keep her eyes open and watch the passion as it played on his face and body, she knew she'd soon cross the edge. The minute he cried out his release, she toppled over with him, dizzy from a starburst of sensations, from the errant thought that now, she'd finally come home.

"You're not the girl I used to know," he said, rolling aside, but bracing his hand possessively across her belly.

"I warned you."

"Yes, well, I will operate with that knowledge close at hand from now on."

"What do you mean?" She sat up against the fluffy pillows and slid her leg beneath her, curling into a comfortable, relaxed position.

He remained silent, his gaze lost in the view outside her window. She watched his transparent blue eyes, his kiss-swollen lips, and the twitch in his sinfully square jaw. Nate was weighing his words. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who'd changed.

"It means I'm sorry."

Serena didn't disguise her surprise, or her residual anger. "You mean about how you dumped me eight years ago."

"Yeah, that."

"Is that why you sent me the card? Why you approached me at Café du Monde? Guilt?"

He tempered his grin with a nonchalant shrug. "Guilt, curiosity...attraction. Do we have to label it?"

Serena didn't answer, mulling over the gift she'd just been offered. Nate Archibald, graduate of the School of I-Am-Never-Wrong felt...guilty? The man who, apology or not, once swept her aside without a backward glance was admitting to curiosity about who she was now, even after they'd made love? Harumph. Here she was all set to exact a clean, cold act of revenge and he was apologizing for his sins of the past—with no prompting!

"No label, that's fair," she said. And probably safer. His pale blue eyes spoke silent volumes as his pupils enlarged and his irises darkened. Nate couldn't conceal his passions and so far as Serena remembered, rarely bothered trying. He wanted her forgiveness as much as he wanted her. Again. He might get lucky on one point, at least. "But your apology better be sincere."

_Because you just sank my master plan_. Funny thing was, she found his maneuver clever and, God help her, endearing.

"So you accept my apology?"

"I haven't decided," she said.

With his signature smooth grace, Nate slid her back beneath the covers. "Now that sounds like a fascinating challenge. Then you still want me for your tour guide?"

With a narrowed gaze, Serena considered the danger of messing with Nate beyond this one erotic encounter. Then he slid his thumbs over her nipples, blowing any reluctance out of her like candlelight in a storm. He did know the hot spots better than anyone did— and she didn't just mean those in New Orleans. "When do we start?"


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

"You have only two days to see all of what's hot in New Orleans, right? We don't have a moment to lose," he answered.

Serena swallowed, her gaze riveted on Nate's long fingers as his hand inched from her breasts to her belly, then stopped. He rested there with casual comfort, as if touching her, naked, after fast, furious sex was something he did every day.

"You always were an impatient man." She playfully slapped his hand away and stood, taking the sheet with her. "The feature I'm doing is called Sexy City _Nights_." She emphasized the last word. "We've got a good eight hours of daylight before we can do serious exploring."

Nate shook his head as he pulled on his boxers. "Just admit you need some space, Serena. Let's not undo my heartfelt apology with silly lies now, okay?"

She raised her right hand, palm out. "Nothin' but the truth. And the truth is, I need to visit the powder room."

As she walked away, Nate admitted one thing—okay, two. First, the woman had a backside built to squeeze tears from a stone-faced man. Second, without him and her family around to chart or influence her every move, Serena had indeed bloomed into a strong-willed, independent, incredibly responsive, and fearless woman. Letting her go hadn't been his crime. His biggest mistake was never going after her.

Well, Nate Archibald never made the same mistake twice.

"Eight hours, huh?" He interrupted her retreat by throwing an arm in her path. "We could always leave the 'City Nights' part for later and focus on the 'Sexy' again."

She dodged his block with a sassy smirk. "Who says there will be an again?"

Her expression might have deflated the confidence of a less arrogant man. Luckily, Nate still had the echo of her climax to spur him on. "I do. No lies, remember?"

"Let's just get dressed and maybe tour some of our old spots. Help me get my bearings." Serena disappeared behind the bathroom door. "Sound reasonable?"

Nate lay back on the bed and folded his hands beneath his head. "That's me—good, ol' reasonable Nate Archibald." Despite her bravado, Nate suspected their unexpected, wild and passionate reunion had Serena as emotionally and physically off-kilter as he was. And when the dizziness subsided, he intended to catch Serena— possibly for good.

Nate led an exciting life, ran a profitable business. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't fill the emptiness inside him— the expanding void of dissatisfaction that plagued his days and haunted his nights. Even before Carol's phone call, Nate had been thinking about Serena, hence, the card on her birthday. He'd also been obsessing over the love she'd once so freely offered—the same love he'd carelessly tossed aside.

He missed her. He wanted her back. Maybe at one time she needed to leave him to find herself, but now that she'd returned—stronger and sexier than ever—he couldn't pass up the chance to show her how he'd changed, as well. Or at least, how he could change with her in his life.

When he heard the rush of the shower, Nate wasted no time. He grabbed her knapsack and pulled out the books she'd marked with slips of paper. The places she wanted to go. The sexual images that had sprung from her fantasies— dreams he'd turn into reality. Studying them would give him the edge—the secret he needed to coax Serena back into his bed—and back into his life.

* * *

><p>Serena turned on the water, needing the noise. Frenzied and disoriented, her thoughts banged in her head so loudly, she feared Nate would hear.<p>

_What the hell am I doing?_

Her legs wobbled, her skin still thrumming from where he'd touched her. Never in her life had she allowed her passions to overwhelm her, rule her. She still felt high in the aftermath, her body primed. But no matter how much her mind and body wanted Nate, she had to keep her heart protected. Off-limits.

In the shower she reminded herself to be strong. Nate's touch would drive her insane with wanting. Not the wanting of sexual desire—that he'd satisfied once and would again if she allowed him. But in the past, she'd wanted more from Nate than just sex. She'd wanted his heart, his love. A future. Now she knew that was impossible.

She showered quickly, freshened her makeup, then brushed her teeth, and reclipped her hair while she forced her brain to accept hard facts. Her life was in New York City. Her job was more than just important; it was her greatest life accomplishment. She'd worked hard and was only now attaining the payoff. Nothing, not even Nate's love, would make her give up her dream.

And so far as she knew, not one member of the Archibald family had ever left New Orleans. Not counting Nate's club, the family owned and operated 12 restaurants, a bed-and-breakfast, and a specialty food shop. He'd rooted his life in New Orleans as firmly as she had hers in Manhattan.

But what would an affair with Nate cost her? So long as she kept her heart out of reach and her expectations focused on the sensual, one wicked weekend with Nate would pay out with only pure pleasure. Some erotic memories. Wasn't that the very same premise as "Sexy City Nights"? Wild passion and intimate behavior amidst the bright lights and swelling crowds? Love affairs as fast and furious as an exciting city lifestyle?

* * *

><p>Nate was stuffing a few necessities into Serena's bag when she emerged from the bathroom.<p>

"What are you doing?"

He slung the knapsack over his shoulder. "Just making sure you have all the things you need. We won't be back here until much, much later."

"What about my books?"

Nate chuckled at the pile he'd made on the coffee table. After reading all her notes, and stuffing a few in his pocket, he'd committed all he needed to memory. "Who needs maps and tour guides? You have me, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

He closed the space between them in two broad steps. Without warning, he snagged her around the waist and pulled her against him. He grinned. The possibilities were as endless as the nightlife in New Orleans. "If I play this right, Rena, you won't be forgetting much about this weekend."


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE **

By the time they reached Bourbon Street, Serena was exhausted. They'd toured all their old haunts—the spot in Jackson Square where they met when she should have been spending the night with a friend. The shop on Royal where Nate had selected and bought her prom dress. Even the low-rent apartment she'd lived in.

Facing the memories, both good and bad, hadn't tired her. Neither had the heat. What had her muscles aching and her lungs sore was one simple thing—not touching Nate. Or more precisely, him not touching her.

The taste of his mouth, the feel of his rock hard body, still resonated through her. The musky scent of his cologne clung to her clothes, haunting every breath she'd taken since. He'd meant to surprise her up against the door and take control of the seduction she'd promised at Café du Monde. But she'd turned the tables and seduced him by taking the lead—a survival tactic meant to show him he couldn't use her passions to manipulate her anymore.

How wrong she'd been. The encounter had only stoked the lust she'd denied for years; the reality was that Nate could still make her body thrum with needs so distinctly feminine, so innately personal, that she remained ready for him. On edge. On fire.

Her arousal escalated as they toured the city. He'd been careful not to touch her or allow any contact with his hands or body. Yet, he'd stroked her with his eyes. Seduced her with words. His hot breath against her ear. His wild, irreverent laugh.

"How 'bout we sneak in here?" He pointed to a large building on the corner of Bourbon and Iberville, a place Serena had never seen before, a place Serena hoped was noisy and not the least intimate where she could regain her bearings. Knowing Nate, though, she didn't harbor much hope.

"Storyville?" she read off the sign.

"You want to know what's new and hot in New Orleans."

"Does your family own it?" she asked.

"No. The other family does."

Serena smiled, grateful she still knew enough about the rivalry of restaurant-owning families in New Orleans to not have to grill Nate about his comment. She also wasn't surprised that he'd frequent an establishment owned by the competition. Nate Archibald hadn't become a rich man by limiting his experiences. He tried most everything once, giving him a mixture of knowledge and worldliness that had attracted Serena when they were young and continued to now.

After a quick chat with the hostess, they were led through the Storyville Jazz Café to the Jazz Parlor, a room awash in crimson and tinged with forbidden romance. Cubes of candlelight flickered from the tables. A dozen fringed lamps glowed scarlet and amber from the polished wood bar. The concrete floor looked like softly tanned leather and the red velvet curtains, also fringed in gold, could very well have hung in the real Storyville, the red-light district of old New Orleans.

"This looks like the inside of a brothel," Serena said.

"Yeah, great, isn't it?"

The waiter delivered two old-fashioneds in short, squat glasses. Serena took a sip of the sweetened bourbon, allowing the icy heat to slide down her throat. Warmth infused her, relaxing muscles that had been tight with wanting all day long. "I can use this place in my layout. Very provocative."

Nate sipped his drink, obviously not needing to look around to nod in agreement. "Photographs, right?"

"Mostly. But the text has to be sexy, too. I've been reading romance novels to find a rhythm for my words. Those women have sexy under control."

He scooted his chair closer. His breath, scented with sugar and whiskey, caressed her cheek. "What would you write?"

"Depends on the photo."

"Describe the photo to me. I'll even close my eyes."

She watched his lashes flutter down, his bottom lip nearly pouting in expectation. "I don't know."

He licked that curved lip. "Come on, Rena. Let me help you start. You had a note on the jazz club listing in that tourist book you brought. You wrote "sweat" and "her thigh in his palm." What was that?"

Serena took another sip of her drink. She wasn't so surprised that he'd read her notes, but shenwondered why he'd taken the time to memorize the fanciful scribbles she'd made on the plane. "Dancing."

His lids drifted closed again. "What kind of music?"

"Something...hot."

"Jazz?" he asked.

"No. Louder. Frenzied."

"Zydeco."

"Yeah."

Serena couldn't help closing her eyes, too. It had been years, but the low country Cajun music, banged with spoons on washboards and pulled from frenetic accordions, always appealed to her. It was wild, fun, raucous, and earthy.

"Dance with me."

"The band's on break," she argued, missing a grab for his arm when he darted away from the table. Two minutes later and probably a few twenties poorer, Nate returned and held out his hand. The soft jazz background music faded as the band scrambled back into place. In a flash, the five men started thrashing out a zydeco tune complete with lyrics sung in Creole French.

The room, sedately low key in the late afternoon, immediately came to life. By the time Nate dragged Serena to the front, five couples were already swaying and hopping to the quick-paced rhythms on a spontaneous dance floor. Nate grabbed her hands and swirled her into a shuffling two-step. Years without music, years without dancing, melted away with the pressure of Nate's hands, the kick in his step, and the graceful yet masculine glide of his body.

He twirled her again, then pressed her close. Her body celebrated the contact. Her breasts, wet with sweat beneath her leather top, tightened. Gooseflesh prickled like a thousand tiny needles, but the result was pleasure, not pain. The bourbon, the music— the man— combined to make her giddy and carefree.

The band switched gears, slowing from a furious frenzy to a lazy bop. Nate turned her to face him; a full measure of music beat past until she realized his intention.

He swayed his hips with a subtle rock. Placing her palms on his waist, he injected her with his rhythm. Hot and slow. His stare captured hers. She bit her bottom lip. Without breaking the cadence of the dance, he slid his palm down from her waist to her thigh, then hooked his hand beneath her knee and lifted her leg, pulling her forward in one insistent thrust. He held her, her thigh in his hand, his erection to her hot center, while they rocked and rolled with the music.

Though the sun hadn't set outside yet, the room soaked up the darkness to come. Serena knew no one could see when Nate inched his fingers higher up her thigh, using the seam of her jeans as a path, touching her precisely in the spot that rocked her more than the music. A scarlet haze enveloped her, a combination of the music, the atmosphere, but mostly…Nate.

"I'm going to make you come," he promised, his whisper overriding the driving rhythm of the sultry bass.

"Not here," she begged, but her protest was too little, too late. With skilled pressure, he forced her over the edge. Her thighs clenched, but he yanked her full against him, holding her, hiding her release in the guise of the Natece.

When the music ended, Serena forced herself to look at him, fully expecting a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Instead, he kissed her. Softly. "That wasn't fair," she chastised.

"No, it wasn't." A strand of hair escaped her clip and Nate took his time tucking it back around her ear.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

"Where to next?" Serena's tone brimmed with impatient expectation while Nate led her across Iberville to Canal Street where he hailed a cab. They'd spent nearly two hours dancing, nibbling on barbecued shrimp and sausage bits, washing down the spiciness with tall glasses of iced tea and one last bourbon for the road. They'd swayed to rocking blues and rolled to sassy jazz, learning each other's bodies again under the guise of dance. After Nate paid the check and pulled Serena out into the night, she was breathless and giddy. He was simply aroused, waiting for Serena to pay him back for his trick on the dance floor.

"Somewhere to cool down," he answered.

In New Orleans, sunset didn't bring cooler temperatures. The sultry heat of the city intensified after dark and he was more than ready to get inside and turn up the heat in a more intimate setting.

He directed the cabby to make a U-turn, then gave him an address in the Warehouse Arts District, the recently renovated area just inside the Central Business District. Serena didn't miss a thing, her nose practically pressed to the glass as they wove toward his home away from home.

Club Carnal.

He checked his watch, glad they could sneak in well before the club opened at 10 p.m. Just before eight o'clock. They'd arrived even before his manager or the waitstaff.

Nate wondered if Serena would remember the significance of coming here until they pulled up in front of the boxy white building with the sleek, brushed steel entrance. Her bright face wilted to a deep frown. "This is your club," she said simply, but emotion washed her words with a sheen of resentment.

"One of the hottest hangouts in New Orleans."

She opened the door and pushed herself out while he paid the fare. By the time the cab pulled away from the curb, Serena stood, arms crossed and legs stiff, while she looked up at the business that had been the impetus for their breakup. Her eyes flashed with anger when he reached to take her elbow. "Is this supposed to be a joke?"

"No joke, Rena. I thought you might like to see what I did with the place. Besides, we can't run from the past."

"You said you were sorry," she reminded him, but he knew that a few simple yet heartfelt words weren't really enough to undo the hurt between them. Especially since she still hadn't officially accepted his apology.

At Storyville, they'd danced as they had when they were first together— carefree and passionate and with nothing but the moment to live for, nothing but the here-and-now to milk for all its excitement and fire.

In this building, their past had all come to an end. But Nate wanted to use this same setting to burn past the hurt and rekindle what was once so precious and rare, it had scared the living hell out of him. He wanted Serena back in his life and he could think of no better place to tell her. Show her. "Come inside with me. Let me apologize again. The right way."

Serena bit her lip, rolling the pink skin beneath her teeth.

"You're not afraid, are you?" he asked, aware this was a cheap and childish ruse, but not caring so long as it worked.

She rolled her eyes and marched forward. "You know, that trick worked much better when I was 16."

"Worked damn good now, too."

She slapped his shoulder while he unlocked the door. Humor danced in her eyes— humor and curiosity and a hearty dash of her new, I'll-show-you impertinence that truly fascinated him. What had happened to imbue her with such brazen strength? Would he destroy that part of her, without meaning to, as he had in the past? Or was her strength and courage now so woven into her that nothing and no one could break it? He hoped that was the case. He'd soon find out.

A former textile warehouse, Club Carnal had been gutted from the fourth floor down to create a

cavernous, yet open space. Sensual, erotic murals adorned the walls, highlighted by neon now as dimmed as the lights. Once he locked the door behind them, he grabbed Serena's hand, pulled her into an elevator and swiped a key card that gave him exclusive access to his fourth floor office.

"Nice elevator," she said. "Think you'll actually let me see the club?"

Nate swallowed his response until the doors slid open at his office. He took a deep breath, wondering when the last time was that he'd allowed anyone in his sanctuary. His club manager? Probably once a week, less if possible. Mainly, this room, narrow but long and featuring a full bank of tilted windows that allowed him to watch the action below, was Nate's escape from the world of trends and hip music and fashion that he made his living from.

He swept his hand toward the windows. "Look around."

Serena walked slowly, checking out the lush leather furniture, paneled walls, and thick plum carpet of his domain. A chamois lampshade gilded the room with candlelit ambience, making the textures richer, the fabrics and finishes resonant with the state of his heart—dark emptiness surrounded by the illusion of light.

"I can't see anything." She leaned forward on the sill that jutted from beneath the windows.

Nate trapped her with his body, his chest pressed to her back, the evidence of his need snug against the gentle slope of her derriere. Here in the amber darkness, he wanted to do nothing but touch her again, but flipped a switch to his left instead, biding his time. Bright pinks, cool blues, and deep purples sputtered and glowed to neon life. Another switch and a bank of floating disco balls spun from the ceiling, their tiny sparks of laser color flashing into his office as they dipped up and down like yo-yos. Then, he turned on the music. Saxophone jazz. Wailing with want, vibrating with vital need— playing the very music that seared his soul.

"Very slick," she said, her tone devoid of inflection, so he couldn't tell if she meant her words as a compliment or a criticism. And he didn't care.

"Like your skin."

He slipped his hand around her waist, beneath the gap that separated her leather vest from her skin. She leaned back into him, rested her head against his chest. "Dancing does that to me. Is that why you brought me here? So I can return that favor you gave me at Storyville?" Serena smiled despite herself.

"You repaid that favor just by coming inside with me. You know, the last time I brought you here, I wanted to make love to you. You were insulted."

"It was a musty, abandoned warehouse, then. You'd just convinced your father to front you the money to buy it and if I recall, you only wanted to christen the space appropriately. Didn't seem to matter much who your lover was."

"That's not true, but I understand why you thought that. I wasn't good at expressing my feelings back then."

"And I wasn't good at being spontaneous." She slid one hand along the side of his thighs, slipped the other back to cradle his neck and pull him closer so that not a wisp of air-conditioned breeze could slip between them.

"You've changed," he said.

"Yes, I have Nate. In more ways than you'd imagine. Close your eyes. Let me show you."


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

Like a second layer of skin, Nate pressed against her. His muscles rigid, his scent musky and male and aroused. Serena had wanted to make love to him in his club five years ago, had craved the freedom, the total trust such a rendezvous symbolized. She'd longed to let herself go, safe in the knowledge that he'd cherish her, protect the secrets he learned when she revealed the full capacity of her body, heart, and soul.

But life had taught her not to trust someone who kept his heart under lock and key. So she'd refused.

Soon after, he'd said goodbye. He'd called her a coward. A prude. According to him, she'd never be anything more than a reflection of the man who owned her, and not even that if she didn't learn to open herself up to new adventures.

She'd changed all right. Thanks to him.

"I already see how different you are, Rena. You're all spit and sass, now. Completely unafraid."

With legerdemain skill, Nate released the lowest button on her vest. A trill of electric need sizzled up her spine. "No woman with sense is completely unafraid. I just choose not to let fear keep me down anymore."

"I never meant to hurt you then."

"But you did. A few orgasms and an apology can't erase that."

"Then I'll try something new. How about more honesty? Serena, you didn't come home because of some article. Not entirely. You also came to teach me a lesson, didn't you? To show me what I missed when I let you go. Well, you know what? You're right. And I've known it for a very long time."

"So why didn't you come after me?"

"I'm not that quick a learner. By the time I realized what I'd lost, you were long gone...in New York, discovering the real Serena van der Woodson." He released the second clasp on her vest and splayed his palm completely against her stomach.

She closed her eyes and reveled in the sensations of his touch. Hot, but gentle. Smooth, but honest. Like his words. He'd nailed her motives dead on and still, he wanted her. Just as she wanted him. "I'm just a woman who wants to have sex with you. For now. I'm not staying, Nate. I can't."

Nate spun her around, tipping her chin up so their gazes locked. "I'm not asking you to stay. But when we make love, here, now...let's do it right. In the hotel room was exciting, but too fast. I want to savor you, Serena. Make this last. Really last."

She tried to laugh to deny his underlying meaning, but the sound came out more like a strangled squeak. She cleared her throat. "You're a man of many passions, Nate. You get bored easily."

His grin tilted higher on one side than the other, just as it always did when he was caught red-handed. "But now, you're a woman of many passions. Used to be, your only passion was me."

"No challenge in that, huh?"

"None at all. And I like a challenge. Live for them, actually."

She popped the next three buttons on her vest herself, revealing more and more flesh. She remembered to breathe only after he stopped her from removing the vest by capturing her hands and pressing a sweet, soft kiss on each set of knuckles.

"I'm not being much of a challenge, am I?"

He smoothed the soft back of her hand across his stubbled cheek. Like a match head to flint, a spark of awareness flared and burned until her nipples tightened and her mouth dried. "You have no idea," he answered. "None at all."

Nate fully understood the challenge, even if Serena didn't. Simple desire was easy, chemical— and sating that need required no more than a physical act. But he wanted more with Serena. She was a woman of layers, of depth, but neither of them had been mature enough to see that until they'd parted. She'd learned about herself on her own in the big city. And in one day in the Big Easy, she'd proved what he'd long suspected—Serena, fully developed, independent and free—was his missing other half.

But he couldn't tell her. The words sounded sappy. Rehearsed. Insincere. How could he know something so intimate after less than a day with her? But he could show her.

Yeah, he could show her. Right here. Now.

He pressed her hands onto the ledge beneath the window, then pulled off his shirt and unzipped his jeans. Only after he was half undressed did he slide Serena's vest off her body.

His breath caught. "You're so beautiful."

With slightly trembling fingers, he traced her bare breasts, her slim rib cage, her curved waist and stomach. Familiar, but new. Comfortable, yet utterly dangerous.

She arched her back. Pinpoints of light from the spinning mirrored balls danced across her flesh, adding a kaleidoscope of color to her flushed and dampened skin. He couldn't stop the urge to taste her, so he did. And she cooed and groaned in wild response.

The rest of their clothes seemed to melt away. He carried her to the leather couch in the corner. He kissed her from her temples to her toes, pleasing her with his hands and teeth and tongue.

Then she returned the favor. By the time he donned the condom he'd pulled from his wallet, nothing existed in the office but Serena and Nate and their mutual need. He clasped her hands when he slipped inside her, and an explosion of pure wonder rocked him long before they reached their climax.

"Serena," he gasped.

"How do I feel?"

He shifted, thrusting gently, cautiously, trying with concentrated desperation not to go too quickly, take too much, too soon. For all he knew, this time, here, now, in the shadow of where it all ended, would be his last chance. To show her. To love her.

"Like heaven, Rena. Pure heaven."

"Take me there, Nate, please."

So he did. And when she shouted his name in divine delight, he knew he could never let her go, weekend deal or not.

* * *

><p>They didn't rush to dress and after Nate explained that the windows had a mirrored coating that allowed them to see out into the club while no one could see in, Serena rolled off the couch and explored. More lights were on downstairs as the waitstaff readied the club. The music changed to retro disco. Serena couldn't help moving to the beat. And doing so while naked, while Nate watched, primed her for sex all over again.<p>

Yet she grabbed a photo off his desk instead of revisiting him on the couch. "This recent?"

The brass frame contained a picture of Nate and his parents, flanked on each side by his sisters and their husbands.

"Last year, at the Club Carnal 4th anniversary."

"Four years? Took you a while to get going. You bought the building before I left."

"Had to do things my way, on my own dime. Investors don't come easy, even with the Archibald name."

She replaced the photo, then returned to the window overlooking the club. They'd both made great strides in five years. They'd made their own way on their own terms. When they made love on the couch, Serena had sensed an inner strength in Nate that hadn't been there before, or at least, one she hadn't had the ability to see. "You must be very proud."

He joined her at the window and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I am. But now, it's time for me to move on."


End file.
